


The Book of Love

by cyprianlatewood



Series: 69 Love Songs Vol 4 [8]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Related, Everybody Lives, M/M, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it's so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprianlatewood/pseuds/cyprianlatewood
Summary: Endgame. The gang saves Fillory, or whatever. That's not really the point. The point is two boys getting all the good things they deserve. Loose S5x13 rewrite.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: 69 Love Songs Vol 4 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162388
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	The Book of Love

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkjXr9SrzQE) is the Magnetic Fields song that started me on this whole series. It brings us to the end of the S5 Canon timeline, but I suspect I will be back for an epilogue. Hope you enjoyed the ride!

**_The book of love is long and boring  
_ ** **_No one can lift the damn thing  
_ ** **_It's full of charts and facts, and figures  
_ ** **_And instructions for dancing  
_ ** **_But I, I love it when you read to me.  
_ ** **_And you, You can read me anything_ **

Quentin padded bleary-eyed into the kitchen. At first, he thought maybe he was still asleep. But no, there was indeed a giant Christmas tree and pile of presents over there, by the Penthouse fireplace. In July. Alice was there, alone. 

He gestured vaguely towards the kitchen. “I was just coming to grab, umm, coffee. What is all this?” 

Alice shrugged. “I guess Santa wanted to leave us something.” 

The two of them were still trying to figure out how to be around each other. So far, their interactions had been brief and always in a group setting. Quentin sighed and came to sit by her, coffee in hand. “Thank you. For getting us out of there, yesterday. I don’t really know how you did it…”

“We were cellmates, at the Library.”

“Wow, you were cellmates with Santa. That’s really, umm, weird. What was he in for? Actually, you know what? I don’t want to know.”

“He left me the Seed page, Quentin. He’s knew, somehow, exactly what we needed. What _I_ needed, after —” she broke off and dropped her eyes.

“Alice. It’s okay. I mean, if we’re going to be friends, we have to be able to talk about it. And I _would_ like to be friends, eventually.”

“Yeah, that would be…nice.”

The silence stretched on, and on. 

“So, umm, did he leave us all presents, or —?”

A voice cried out from behind him: “What in the pumpkin-spice fuck?!”

“Oh, hey Margo,” he chuckled. 

Quentin sensed Eliot’s presence before he saw him. It was becoming a thing, with them. Whether it was his scent, or the sound of his silk robe swishing against his legs, or some kind of weird magic thing, Quentin didn’t know, but he really didn’t mind it. The other man snuggled up next to him on the armchair and nuzzled his neck with no preamble — there really _wasn’t_ enough room for them both, so Quentin ended up in his lap, juggling the coffee frantically. He pretended to be put out, but couldn’t keep the smile from creasing his cheeks. 

“I like the ponytail,” he said drily. Eliot just raised an eyebrow and floated the coffee out of Quentin’s hands to take a sip. 

Once they were all gathered, Josh started rummaging through the pile and passing out packages. A knife-sharpener for Fen (who was sitting weirdly close to Margo, for some reason), another Microplane for Josh, some kind of enchanted bookmark-slash-reading lamp for Zelda, a pocket watch for Kady (even she seemed confused by that one), baby stuff for Penny23 and Julia. Margo got a necklace thingie to hold her Fairy eye, and Rupert got a…bracelet? 

“I’ve got no clue, mate,” he shook his head in confusion, when Eliot asked what it meant. 

“Santa said that sometimes the gifts make sense later,” Alice offered.

That just left Eliot and Quentin. Eliot’s gift was a small brass key, like the kind for a keepsake box. He looked at Quentin, who just shrugged. And then it was his turn. As he held the package, he could tell almost immediately that it was books. He almost laughed. _Always easy to shop for, that one_ , he thought. But then he tore back the paper and saw — 

_The Book of Arielle Coldwater-Waugh_. 

_Oh, for fuck’s sake,_ he thought briefly. Would there be one day this entire fucking month that wouldn’t include waterworks? He ran his fingers over the gold lettering in wonder. He gazed up at Eliot, who was staring wide-eyed at the cover, lower lip trembling minutely. Hardly daring to breathe, Quentin peeled back the rest of the paper and shifted the top book aside just enough to read…

And there it was. _The Book of Theodore Rupert Coldwater-Waugh._

A choking gasp came from Eliot as his hand flew up to his mouth. Quentin instinctively moved to comfort him. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured softly. Just in the way that Quentin had fallen apart at the gravestones in Fillory, so now was Eliot losing it completely in front of all their friends. 

Quentin set the books carefully on the floor and twisted to wrap his arms around Eliot, rubbing his back and trying to keep his own tears from soiling Eliot’s robe. He was not entirely successful. Eventually, he remembered that they weren’t alone, and that the room had gone weirdly quiet. 

Margo broke the silence. “Okay, you two — what the hell is going on over there?” 

Quentin laughed wetly and pulled back to look Eliot in the eye. “Does she know?” He asked softly. Eliot shook his head. “Do you want them to know?” Eliot sat stunned like a deer in the headlights. Quentin traced the bones of his hand with his thumb. Finally, Eliot just pursed his lips and gave a tiny nod. Quentin faced the others.

“So, umm, remember when we got the time key?” Quentin started, tentative.

“When I dug up Jane’s corpse and saved your asses from having to live the rest of your lives in the middle of the woods, slaving over an unsolvable puzzle and then dying alone? Yeah, I fuckin’ remember that,” Margo scoffed. Eliot tensed.

Quentin coughed. “Well, the thing is, we weren’t exactly alone. And we still lived it. We — umm, we _remember_ it, somehow.”

“Uhh, what the fuck?” Margo asked. The rest were just looking on in confusion.

Quentin took a breath to continue but Eliot cut in. “The answer to the puzzle was ‘the beauty of all life.’ _Our_ life. We had a…a family. Together.” He gestured down to the floor where the names were clearly readable. 

“Well, shit,” Margo breathed. “I don’t get it, El — why didn’t you guys say anything?”

Eliot was silent. Quentin didn’t catch a glimpse of what his face was doing but from watching Margo, he could tell she was reading it clearly. She looked sad. “Oh, El, you didn’t.”

Quentin cleared his throat. “Soooo…everything’s fine, now, right? Conversation for another time, perhaps?” Giving Margo his best _drop it_ glare. She looked like she might fight it, but then acquiesced and turned back to her present. 

Later, in their room, Eliot rested his head in Quentin’s lap and said softly, “I think I’m ready. Read me something?” And Quentin hesitated over the pair of books before reaching for Arielle’s first. For Teddy’s, he wasn’t sure _he_ was ready. 

He opened to the first page, his voice falling into that familiar cadence of a bedtime story, as Eliot closed his eyes and listened, Quentin’s free hand stroking his long curls. “Born Arielle of Stoneflower, in the month of the Orange Pigeon, child of Anya, Sorrel and Kym. Arielle spent her first days gazing up at the early blossoms of the family orchards. She wasn’t yet three before she had learned to address every tree in Stoneflower by both species and chosen name, and they all knew hers in return. When she escaped the sight of her parents, which was quite often, she could usually be found by searching for the cloud of fiery red hair peeking out from the top of a peach tree, or following the sound of her ringing laugh as she scaled the walnut groves on behalf of the local squirrel families. Her favorites were the festival days, for she loved more than anything to dance…”

—

**_The book of love has music in it  
_ ** **_In fact that's where music comes from  
_ ** **_Some of it's just transcendental  
_ ** **_Some of it's just really dumb  
_ ** **_But I, I love it when you sing to me  
_ ** **_And you, You can sing me anything_ **

It was time. If Ember and Umber’s predictions had been correct, time was running short before the last of the Takers would enter Fillory, leaving the path from the Underworld wide open. The dead would rise and overtake first Fillory, and then Earth and all other worlds via the Neitherlands. All the necessary pieces to stop it had been collected: the World Seed, the activation spell, an expert on circumstances, and the Arc. Now they just needed a game plan. The gang was gathered in the common area, and Quentin, as usual, was at the chalkboard.

“Okay, so, first things first,” he started as he wrote on the board, _Rapture Fillory_. “We take the Arc to Fillory and activate it.”

Julia raised her hand. “How will we know the Fillorians are all, as you say, ‘raptured?’”

Josh jumped in. “There’s a census scroll in Whitespire. It’s enchanted to update automatically, so we should be able to tell from that. When all the numbers hit zero, we’re good to go.”

“Great!” Quentin agreed. “And then, we need to destroy Fillory. So, any ideas there?”

“The Clockwork Heart,” Margo called out. “El and I went there when we were first trying to fix the time jump. The Clock Dwarf told us that if we turned it back, all of Fillory would collapse. Literally.”

Fen gave a little sniffle, and Margo put a reassuring hand on her knee. Huh.

Quentin wrote _Turn Back Clockwork Heart_ on the board. “Okay, so we turn back the clock, and then what? Does the collapse happen immediately? How do we get out?”

“We need a traveler,” Alice said.“Sorry guys,” Penny23 muttered, chagrined. “GPS still broken.”

“What about that Hyman guy?” Margo suggested. “Or Penny, don’t you have a student, Plum, or whatever?”

“Yeah, Plum only travels in time, unfortunately. But Hyman might be up for it.”

Quentin wrote _GTFO - Hyman?_ on the board. “Okay, so - Fillory is imploding - but we don’t want to lose the Wellspring before we get to our next step, which is…” and he wrote _Bloom World Seed_. “So we need a separate team on that.”

“We should cast in the Neitherlands,” suggests Zelda. “There isn’t enough time for you to get the hang of internal circumstances.”

So it was decided. Josh and Alice volunteered to gather the Fillorians into the Arc, and bring it to the Neitherlands. Rupert would go to Whitespire as well, and slide down to the Dwarven cave where the Clockwork Heart lived, while Penny23 agreed to go get Hyman and talk him into running a rescue mission. Fen would be needed to advise on the Seed casting, and it was agreed that the remaining royalty — Margo, Eliot and Quentin — should be the three casters. The rest of them would be on standby in case of emergency. The meeting dissolved into general chatter and day-drinking after that.

Rupert pulled Quentin aside. “Do you think there’s time for me to make a trip to the Clock Barrens and see Jane before we start? She won’t be picked up by the Arc, and I should very much like the chance to talk her into _not_ dying for Fillory.” 

“She’s trapped there, I think. Some side effect of the time loops. Not sure you’d be able to get her out, even if she wanted to go.”

“Well, in that case, all the more reason I’d like to see her. If anything, to say goodbye.”

“Of course you should go. We’ll send you a rabbit when it’s time for your task.”

“Here, take my Fairy Eye,” Margo called out. She passed the necklace to Rupert. “That way we can see you and help Hyman locate you when he travels.”

“But he won’t be able to see what you see, Margo,” Josh noted. 

“There’s a prism spell we could use,” Alice mentioned. “Turns your optic nerve into a projector, of sorts. But I obviously can’t cast, and I haven’t been historically great with prism spells, anyway.”

“I know that one,” Kady said. “I’ll do it.”

Rupert headed off through the clock to find Jane, Margo’s eye dangling from his neck. Penny23 and Julia portaled to Brakebills to get Hyman, while the rest of them discussed the plans for New Fillory and devoured more of Josh’s addictive pastries. 

“It has to have Chatwin’s Torrent,” Eliot pointed out. 

“And don’t forget the Chankly Bore!” Fen added, mouth full of scone.

“But please, please can we skip the Wandering Desert,” Margo pleaded. “Oh and the Northern Marsh — that place was fuckin’ weird.”

“But Margo, if we skip the Northern Marsh, the Prince of the Mud won’t have anywhere to live!” Fen cried. 

“Shit,” Quentin realized. “All of Fillory is a habitat — what if we, like, forget some place that is absolutely critical to the survival of, like, the Pegasi or something? 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works, Quentin,” Alice explained. “You don’t have to imagine every single detail. It reads intent.”

“That’s right,” Fen added. “So it really should be enough to imagine a place ‘where all Fillorians can live’ or something along those lines. Then the spell will fill in the gaps.”

“What if they accidentally think of the plot of Star Wars, or something?” Josh asked. “Will we get Endor instead of New Fillory?”

“Doubtful, Josh,” Eliot snarked. “But we’ll all do our best to stay focused on the important shit.” Quentin gave Josh a sympathetic look — the worry had crossed his mind, as well.

A short time later, Penny23 and Julia were back, with Hyman _and_ Plum. “Umm, hi,” she waved. It was really a shame they hadn’t been able to spend much time with Plum, she seemed really cool, thought Quentin. He would love to hear more about how the whole time traveling thing worked. Or _didn’t_ work, from the sound of it. Another time, he supposed. 

“So, here’s the thing. Hyman here is cocking out, big time,” Penny23 said accusingly. 

“Okay, come on,” Hyman protested. “This whole ‘hero’ business is all you guys. It’s just not my thing! I don’t wanna get hurt. I don’t think that’s so unreasonable! I mean, to be perfectly frank, I’m not really a fan of this whole ‘having a body’ thing at all, but if I have to be stuck with one, I’d at least like to experience as little pain in it as possible.”

Eliot startled for a second, and tilted his head. Quentin sighed — Charlton again. It didn’t happen a lot, especially since Eliot (and Charlton) knew it bothered Quentin, but during planning discussions, Charlton was kind of nosy and would occasionally try to interject with ideas and _opinions._ But this time, when Eliot came back to them, he had a sly smile on his face.

_“_ Okay, so I might actually have an idea. If you really hate having a body so much, what if someone else borrowed it, and you could just, I don’t know, go back to the Astral Plane?”

Hyman was ecstatic. Penny23 and Plum both rolled their eyes. “Really?!” Plum cried, indignant. “After all the bullshit we got ourselves into to save it for you?”

“Yeah, and who the fuck is gonna take his body, El?” Margo cut in. “In case you haven’t noticed, all the rest of us already have ours.”

“So, the thing is, I actually have this…friend, in my head.”

“…the fuck?” Margo scanned Eliot’s face to see if he was high.

“Bambi. I’m not on drugs. His name is Charlton. He was a previous host to the Monster, and he somehow stuck around after, you know. And it would be _really great_ if he had his own body, for the sanity of multiple people in this room.” 

Quentin gave a thumbs up and nodded vigorously.

So they set up the consciousness transference spell they used for Eliot’s golem. Hopefully Rupert was enjoying his extended visit with Jane, since this was all taking much longer than expected. Quentin hovered nervously by the bed until Margo swatted him away. 

Finally, Eliot sat up, eyes wary. “Did it work?”

Hyman stood up carefully, turning his hands back and forth. His entire posture was different - whereas the old Hyman would have lounged sleazily across the nearest piece of furniture, ever-present leer on his face, this version was fidgety, and held himself ramrod-straight. “Oh gods!” he said in wonder as he inspected his body. “I’m so tall!” It was Charlton, alright.

Unfortunately, Charlton couldn’t get his new body to travel. After a good 30 minutes of trying, he sat heavily on the couch, defeated. 

“It’s okay, man, take a break and we’ll try again.” Penny23 gave him a pat on the back that was probably meant to be reassuring but sent Charlton hurtling forward in surprise. 

“Sorry, I’m — still not used to being touched, I guess,” he stuttered. 

“I hate to rush this, but we really should get to the Neitherlands,” Zelda reminded them. “You can keep trying there.” 

So Josh and Alice went through the clock to Fillory, with the Arc. The rest of them followed Zelda to the nearest Library, where they could portal to the Neitherlands Branch. The place had certainly seen better days, but it would do for their purposes. They found a clear spot in the stacks to draw their sigils, while Kady jammed a small prism into Margo’s eye socket and cast the projection spell. 

“Trippy,” Eliot laughed as Margo swung her head around, flashing them all with light. 

“Jesus, watch where you point that thing,” Penny23 complained. 

“Sorry,” Margo answered, not sounding sorry at all. She hopped up on a desk and settled the beam on a nearby wall, where they could now see Jane sipping tea in her little hut in the Clock Barrens. 

Meanwhile, Plum and Penny23 were still trying to coach Charlton, to no avail. “Are you experiencing Hyman’s psychic powers, at least?” 

“Well, I can hear someone singing, something about…champagne problems?”

Eliot turned to Quentin, laughing. “It is NOT me,” Quentin protested, face red. “Why does everyone always think it’s me?!”

“Actually, that was my fault,” Julia volunteered. “What? It’s a good record!” 

Suddenly, a bunny dropped to the middle of the floor. “Fillorians rapturing,” it croaked. “Finishing soon.”

Hurriedly, in case the bunny was going to get raptured as well before they could use it, they sent the message on to Rupert. Sure enough, a few moments after it delivered its message, they watched it disappear from Jane’s table in a swirl of dust. Rupert pulled Jane into a tight embrace. She pressed something into his hand they couldn’t see and then he strode out of the hut.

Charlton watched the projection with increasing concern on his face as Rupert approached the Castle, and Quentin watched Charlton. It almost looked like — Charlton and Rupert _had_ spent an entire day together during the body swap spell, he remembered. He wondered if he would have watched Eliot stride into danger with that much fondness and worry after only 24 hours of knowing him? Probably. After an excruciating 10 minutes, Rupert reached the bottom of the slide and found the lever to turn back the clock. He wrenched it forward. With a lurch, the room he was in started to shake. 

“Oh gods,” Charlton cried, hands coming to his face. “Oh gods, I can’t — I have to — Rupert…” He looked on helplessly as Rupert waited, growing increasingly distraught and then resigned as he seemed to realize that nobody was coming for him, after all. 

At last, Josh and Alice arrived. “Okay, sorry everyone, but it looks like Fillory is going down fast. We have to do this _immediately_ ,” Margo urged, and made to put a patch over her prism. 

“Wait!” cried Charlton. “Just — just give me one more chance.”

Margo looked like she might argue, but when she saw his face, she stepped down. Charlton focussed on the image of Rupert patiently awaiting his death, took a breath, clenched his eyes closed…and blipped out. 

Before they could even cheer, he appeared in the image. Rupert’s eyes widened in relief and surprise as Charlton grabbed his elbows and blipped them back into the stacks, where he collapsed onto Rupert’s chest, sobbing. “Oh thank gods, Rupert. I did it, thank gods.” 

“Umm — yes, you did. Thank you — Hyman, is it?”

Charlton’s head shot up, startled. Then he remembered and laughed, a little hysterically. “Oh! No, no, it’s actually — It’s me, Charlton. I — Hyman gave me his body.”

Rupert’s face transformed. “Charlton! It’s really you?” His fingers grazed over over the body before him in wonder, taking in the similarities in posture and demeanor with a joyful expression. 

“I was so scared, I thought I wouldn’t be able to save you,” Charlton sobbed, still gripping tightly onto Rupert’s elbows.

“Okay, okay, reunion time later. We got a bunch of Fillorians to save here. My eye, please?” Margo demanded, holding out her hand.

Rupert tore his eyes away from Charlton with a start. “Oh, yes, yes. Right here,” he mumbled, pulling off the chain and dropping it in Margo’s palm. 

Fen stood in the center with the Arc and the Seed in hand. Margo, Quentin and Eliot took their places at the corners of the triangle and began the spell. As they chanted, the air filled with dronelike tones, shifting and building into ethereal chords. The Seed started to radiate a pulsing glow. Margo winked at Fen, who blushed a little at that, for some reason. Finally, the glow steadied, and the song faded. It was time to create.

Fen spoke first, asking for a new home for the Wellspring, a land hospitable for all Fillorians. She asked for a place that would be better than the last Fillory, where people would be treated equally regardless of gender and skin color and species, (“Not sure a planet can correct for human error, honey,” Margo scoffed, but Fen just rolled her eyes fondly and continued). 

Then they were all silent, each one thinking of the things they loved about old Fillory, and the things they loved from Earth or dreamed of improving in the new world, and the Seed started to shake and peel open. A strong gust of wind whirled around them. At the last moment, Quentin locked eyes with Eliot. He wondered if they were both thinking of the same thing. Before he could try to interpret the expression on Eliot’s face, the glow transformed into a blinding light that encompassed them all. He had to cover his eyes with his hand. Eventually, the wind dropped and the light faded, so he dropped his hand, only to see a completely different view before him. They perched on a rocky outcropping over a long stretch of water. Behind them was a dense forest. 

The four of them spun around in confusion. “What the hell?” Eliot murmured. 

“Where are we? Where the fuck did the others go?” Margo protested.

Fen took a deep breath, and sighed happily. “This must be New Fillory,” she said. 

Margo followed her example, inhaling, and then grinned. “We got the opium,” she crowed.

Quentin held up his hands nervously and did a quick Popper sequence, assuming circumstances from the old Fillory. Tiny fireworks shot up and crackled overhead, but before they could dissipate, they froze into icicles and started dive-bombing the group. 

“Sorry, sorry!” he cried as they ducked to avoid the shards until the air was cleared again. “So we must have gotten the Wellspring, too, although it seems like we may need to do a bit of research before we can cast here.”

He turned to Eliot in relief. They came together in a tight embrace. “We did it,” he whispered happily. 

“I always knew we would,” Eliot responded and cupped his neck before pulling him into a long, tender kiss. He expected to hear the usual jeering from Margo, but when he pulled back and opened his eyes, he saw that Margo was a little busy kissing and groping Fen. His jaw dropped in surprise. 

“Huh. _That’s_ new,” Eliot said, sounding impressed.

—

**_The book of love is long and boring  
_ ** **_And written very long ago  
_ ** **_It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes  
_ ** **_And things we're all too young to know  
_ ** **_But I, I love it when you give me things  
_ ** **_And you, You ought to give me wedding rings  
_ ** **_And I, I love it when you give me things  
_ ** **_And you, You ought to give me wedding rings  
_ ** _You ought to give me Wedding rings_

They regrouped at the rocky outcropping after their latest excursion. Their immediate worry on arriving in the new land had been finding food, but they quickly stumbled on groves of fruit and nut trees, laden with ripe plums, almonds, dates — Quentin and Eliot shared secret smiles every time they came across more. While they probably could have survived this way, the sandwich fields were a nice surprise (“What? I was hungry!” Margo explained). Fen was most excited about the knife trees. 

They had also spent a few hours trying to get the hang of the circumstances. While some things were still a bit wonky, it seemed like they had a workable set of modifications for most simple spells. “Okay, so we have magic, food, potable water, and no immediate dangers. Time to let the Fillorians out?” Eliot suggested.

Fen held up the Arc and passed it to Margo. “I think it should be you,” she stated. Margo scoffed but appeared pleased.

“High King Margo the Creator,” Quentin announced. Margo rolled her eyes as she took the Arc, and with some ceremony, pressed the button to release its contents. At first, they didn’t see any change, but then they realized the soundscape was changing all around them. Before, they heard only wind and water. But now, calls and voices started to pepper the air. Surprise, fear, confusion, mostly. 

“God,” Margo groaned. “We should probably, like, send up a beacon or something. There are gonna be a _lot_ of freaked-out citizens.” They sent up a magical flare, and it wasn’t long before Rafe was standing in front of them. 

“Hey Rafe,” Fen chirped. Welcome to New Fillory!” 

Rafe bowed deeply. “Oh, thank Ember, Your Majesties.” 

With Rafe’s help, the group began to work out the logistics for informing the Fillorians of their new situation. There was a _lot_ of work ahead of them, as they were quickly realizing. 

“First, we need to find a bunny.” Quentin pointed out. “We need all the help we can get from Earth, and our friends have no idea where we are. If we can at least send them a message, they can start working out how to find us and make a portal.” 

Rafe set off to hunt for a rabbit. The sun was nearly set by the time he returned, two rabbits in his arms. Thankfully, they blipped out of sight with the given messages and appeared a few minutes later with responses from Julia and Josh. They continued working the rabbits well into the evening, sending messages to as many Fillorian leaders as they could think of. Finally, the overworked pair had enough — without cigarettes on new Fillory, an IOU could only go so far. So they all stretched out on the grass and slept under the stars…those that weren’t too excited to sleep, anyway.

“Shh, we can’t,” Quentin moaned as Eliot’s wandering hands picked up the pace. “Everyone will hear us.” 

“Then you’ll just have to be extra quiet, won’t you,” Eliot whispered wickedly before continuing his ministrations. When Quentin threatened to get too loud, he simply covered his mouth with his own. It didn’t occur to Quentin until right before he drifted off to sleep that they could have easily cast privacy wards.

The next few weeks were equally busy and exhausting, so they didn’t get to explore as much as he would like, but finally Quentin found himself with a bit of downtime, and pulled Eliot aside. “So, I was wondering — do you think the cottage made it here? I know I asked for it.”

“Me too. There’s only one way to find out, I guess,” Eliot responded and they slipped away while the others were deep in conversation.

Quentin was worried that they would have trouble finding the cottage, if it was even here. But they had only been walking for an hour or so when he felt a nudging at the back of his mind, almost telling him where to go. 

He looked over at Eliot. “Do you feel that? Like a psychic pull, sort of, from that direction?” he pointed off to the left. 

“Yeah,” Eliot breathed. They followed the pull. It got increasingly stronger until they climbed over a ridge and saw the clearing below. Quentin smiled, feeling the muscles in his face stretch as far as they could go. 

“Guess it was a homing beacon,” he laughed. 

Eliot took his hand and they tripped down the hillside to the clearing. It wasn’t _quite_ the same as the original version. There was no mosaic, for example. But the daybed was there, and the cottage appeared close enough to the original, if a bit larger and less rickety. Clearly, Eliot had been exercising his design sensibilities. 

And the garden was still there, with the memorials, well-pruned and thriving. Quentin peeked around the back of the house just to confirm, but didn’t want to dwell on it. _Only good memories today_ , he thought. “Let’s check inside,” he said aloud.

It was clear immediately on entering that Eliot had spent a good amount of creative thought on this space, because there was no way any of it came from Quentin’s brain. Some of it was familiar, for sure. There were still two bedrooms, but now there was a large sitting room for entertaining, filled with bookshelves for Quentin (okay, maybe that one was him), and furniture that somehow struck a perfect balance between elegant and homey. Certainly nothing made with burlap or straw the way their previous furnishings had been. The kitchen was larger, too, with appliances that seemed to resemble their electric Earth counterparts but operated via magic. 

A thought struck Quentin. “Do you think there’s a shower?!” 

There was not a shower, but the bathroom did have a luxurious bathtub. His mind was already running wild with ideas of what he and Eliot could do in that bathtub when he heard a shaky voice from the bedroom. “Baby? Can you come here for a second?”

Quentin felt a rush of dread - was Eliot in danger? But when he entered the room, all he saw was Eliot facing away from him in front of a dresser. He caught a glimpse of the bed from the corner of his eye, an upgrade from the original version. Eliot spun around. His eyes were a bit shiny (when were they _not_ on the verge of tears these days, really?) but there was a shaky grin on his face. In his hands he held a box that Quentin didn’t recall having seen before. It was made of lacquered wood and looked like the kind of box where a person might store jewelry. There were little iridescent birds inlaid in the lid. 

“What is that?” he asked.

“So — I. Umm.” Eliot dipped his head. “This was on the dresser, here, and it was, umm, locked, so…” and he turned the box so Quentin could see that a small brass key sticking out from the side. The same key Eliot had received that morning. 

“Okay…?”

“Well, I, uh, opened it, and…” 

“Eliot, you’re shaking. What is it?”

Eliot was torn. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, sighing and pushing out his lips. He took a little shuffling step forward, and then looked back down to the box. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. 

“You know what? Fuck it,” he muttered to himself, and opened the lid. Quentin couldn’t see what was inside but it was small enough to fit in Eliot’s fist. Putting the box back on the dresser, he stepped over to Quentin and stood in front of him for a moment, peering intently into his face. He picked up one of his hands and held it tightly.

Quentin was starting to get worried again. “Eliot, you’re weirding me out a little, here. Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

Eliot smiled, shyly at first and then more and more until his grin was so big it threatened to take over his entire face. He took a deep breath…and stretched one long leg behind him, lowering himself to the polished wood floor. Quentin couldn’t help the exclamation of shock that fell from his lips. 

“So I know this is fast,” Eliot began. “But it’s hardly the first time, is it?” And he opened his fist, turning his palm up so Quentin could see the two rings there. The very same rings they had worn for so many years, in their other life here. 

How could he have forgotten? He laughed, a sudden, clear sound that resonated through his chest joyfully. “I have to admit it’s a little strange, a proposal prompted by Santa himself, but who am I to fight destiny?”

“I thought you said destiny was bullshit, Q,” Eliot said softly.

“Not when it’s you.” They stayed in this position for another few moments, just grinning at each other like complete idiots. 

“So, are you gonna take your ring, already? My knees aren’t exactly what they used to be,” Eliot pouted.

“I don’t know, why would I take this? You haven’t asked anything yet,” Quentin teased, voice cracking a little.

Another pause. Then, Eliot squeezed his hand even tighter, and in a hoarse half-whisper, asked, “Quentin _Makepeace_ Coldwater, will you marry me? Again?”

“Of course I will, you moron,” he giggled wetly, but both their movements were clumsy as Eliot slid the ring onto his finger. Quentin pulled him to his feet impatiently and returned the favor, before pulling him into a frantic kiss. 

“God, I really love you,” Quentin choked out in between kisses. He shivered as he felt the cold of the ring, newly-returned to Eliot’s hand, against his lower back. Sliding up under his shirt.

Eliot’s hands couldn’t seem to settle. “I love you too, darling. So much,” he murmured, covering him in light caresses and kisses, all energy and flight. “And there will be a real wedding this time, I promise.”

“Hey!” Quentin protested. “I loved our little ceremony. Teddy was the perfect officiant.”

“I know, baby. But I wanna do something special. Just a little bit spectacular, for us. For you. Nothing huge. I know you would hate that.”

“I really would,” Quentin confirmed. 

“Just our friends, and a nice party. And not right away, of course. We need the portal to Earth, first.”

“Yeah, I want Julia there, this time, and the others.”

“I was thinking more in terms of the catering and bar selection, but yeah, I guess people we care about are important, too,” Eliot joked.

“Oh, my _god_ , can we stop talking about this now, I just wanna get my mouth on you.”

“Okay, _fiancee,_ whatever you desire,” Eliot teased as they fell onto the bed and into each other. Quentin was right — it was _definitely_ an upgrade.


End file.
